Sporting hiking boots, sturdy denim, and a tanned leather jacket that our grandfather gave him, he used to dress like a rambler and gladly became one with every step towards the pines that surrounded our city. On old soil made up of broken twigs and hallowed stones, he escaped. He left me behind for seven years to form a better man out of himself.
He liked the idea of girls, but never dated them. Never took them seriously. Treated them like toddlers, the girls. He liked how they followed him in his wanderings, how they asked if they could study with him, how they looked when he said no. They never got it. The message. He loved me and his trees more than anything they could offer, their bodies and all. And he had sex with them. I know he did. They thought him beautiful, and he was, with his height and dark eyes and smile. He was the bad boy who still scored well on tests. He was smart. Still is. Never believed in sports, but he took care of himself. Athletic. Handsome. Womanizer. He had sex with them. Those girls. I know he did. I think he hated every single one.
Swollen, red knuckles joined the hiking boots, sturdy denim, and tanned leather jacket that our grandfather gave him. Only once did he visit the principal's office. A senior named Zach had whistled at me in the parking lot, and though I wasn't there when the fight happened, I do know that Zach never looked in my direction ever again. He just couldn't stop punching Zach in the face. Just. Couldn't. Stop.
My brother is a good man. He means well.
He's not like how I found him Friday night. He's not always. I promise.
It started at Thursday and that morning was shitty. My eyes clenched and opened to the sight of bathroom tile, the grout pressed against my cheek and denting the skin. It was no surprise, really, to wake up that way in that place feeling as low as I did then. I was facing the question of my mortality. I was scared shitless. Groaning, I rose and sat numbly while my joints creaked and mouth watered.
The only evidence I had was my body. Like a map. Read it, I told myself. What does it say?
Scrapes. Sandpapered knee, raw elbow.
Bruises. A dark trail dripping on the shins and joints.
Ripped clothes and glitter. Two club stamps and a fistful of knotted hair.
And on and on, I made a mental list as I carefully changed out of my clothes, peeling the fabric off of me like old stickers. Naked and sore, I slowly approached the mirror that hung above my sink. Maybe I didn't look as bad as I felt, I thought to myself. Maybe I'm fine. I rubbed my eyes and looked.
I lurched.
Across my face was something bizarre. Something untamed. A spray of crimson undeniably there. Undeniably red. Red. Red. Red. Not a trick of the mind. Flecks of red were slanted and spread across my face, lips to eyebrow. I stared with widened eyes as quiet whimpers hummed in my throat. Red. Red. Red. With my fingertips, I carefully prodded the droplets. Not wet. I tapped again. They didn't come off. Tap. Tap. Tap. Rubbing. I rubbed harder, the woman in the mirror rubbed harder, and I saw the monster again all dirty and scared. Dark, brown eyes. Sprinkles of red dotting the skin like hellish freckles.
I gave up. I opened my shower door and hastily twisted the water on so she'd go away.
That bloodied child. That ghost.
My shuddering whimpers became loud sobs. The hot water washed over me, but I didn't feel an ounce different. So. So. Filthy. None of my stains went down the drain, and had I known that my brother was home, I wouldn't have cried so damn loud.
"Ada?"
He's here?
"Ada?"
His voice was soft and low like white noise. Even in the unexpectedness of hearing him, a swell of relief, along with the panic, raptured in my chest.
I felt the coolness of the bathroom air tickle me. It began at my thighs and worked itself everywhere else.
Next, was him. My brother. His scent flooded the shower, the real smell, not that lifeless aroma that permeates the ventilation system of Vashon. It was him, that smell. Adrian smells like pine and crisp mint and a little bit of sweat. I was on the floor huddled in on myself, but I didn't need to see to know that he was there. He was suddenly everywhere.
"I don't remember."
Three words coming out like popped champagne.
"What?" he answered, his voice bouncing off the tile walls and in between the rush of water.
"I don't remember what happened to me."
A pause.
"Oh, okay," he replied. "It probably doesn't matter-"
"I don't remember h-how I got here, Adrian. Of course it matters! I don't remember-"
"Doesn't matter."
Strong hands gripped my arms. I melted.
"Come on, let's get up," he murmured as he tugged. "Come on, let's move."
And that's how my brother was welcomed home that day. Post-breakdown, he saw me bare and broken into incorrigible pieces, and thankfully because he loves me so, I was dried off and placed back into bed. No questions. No emotion. Just a forehead kiss and a "Please sleep."
He left me alone. Adrian let me be.
My brother is a good man. He means well.
He listens to Modest Mouse and used to play the piano. He says music makes him feel more alive than most people do.
When I emerged from my room after showering properly, I could hear my television downstairs. My body ached everywhere from the joints of my toes to the muscles of my neck, but that didn't stop me. Stiffly, I followed the sound down the hall, down the steps, and into my living room. There, on my couch sat Adrian, his brown eyes emptily staring at a jungle scene, rain pouring on to the bright, green leaves of a nature show. Adrian's head turned.
"Hey," he said.
Dressed in a white t-shirt and jeans, Adrian was lounging as if the last eight months never happened. Bro was asleep on the floor at his feet. Barefoot and free, it was so strange to place him on that couch. My fantasy of him being out of Vashon was, for a fleeting second, a reality, but then I remembered the truth. He was not free. Not one bit.
"Um, hi. Why are you here?" I said. "How-"
"Will Graham."
At my frown, Adrian gestured for me to join him on the couch. I obliged while he adjusted the volume of the program.
"How are you feeling?" he then asked gently.
My shoulders rose and fell limply. The shame was like a red poker to the chest.
"I'm sorry you had to see that," I said.
"See what?"
"Me."
This time, he shrugged.
"It's all good. Is everything okay?"
Is everything okay? Inwardly, I scoffed. The question was so abhorrently stupid, but as a whole, I knew that my brother asked more out of cordiality towards me and whatever sense of privacy he allotted me to feel, rather than out of dim ignorance. Adrian's a smart man and he knows his sister well. The answer was an obvious no. No, everything was certainly not "okay." Why things weren't, well, I wasn't ready to say. Not entirely.
"Things are fine," I said while Lecter's face appeared in my mind. "I'm just overwhelmed with work and stuff. Tell me about Will Graham though. I'd rather talk about that."
Dark eyes flickered as he studied my face. Skeptical, but he said nothing. He knows his sister well. He's a good man.
"Your new friend, Will Graham," he started again, "said that my dear, sweet sister was going to assist their ongoing investigation of the Chesapeake Ripper, and apparently me getting out for some sunshine in the real world is a part of the package deal."
I inhaled through the nose while my eyes drifted towards the television.
"Will Graham is our new friend," I replied. "And he wants my two cents on whatever's going on in this city. The murders. That kid at the university. They think that the Ripper is here raising hell."
"Huh."
I glanced back. A teasing tug of the lips told me that Adrian was playing a game, but I was in no mood.
"What?" I whined. "Just say it."
"Don't get all pissy," he said jokingly. "You know I hate it when you're against me."
"Never against you," I breathed while rubbing my eyes hard enough to see stars. "Never have been."
"That's true."
The couch then laxed as my brother rose from it, his and Bro's footfalls heard as he wandered into the kitchen. I followed him with my eyes, curious as to where he was wanting the conversation to go. True, it was possible that he knew nothing. He can be a tease. However with Adrian, I'd rather believe that he held all the cards rather than be found dumb thinking he didn't.
"Mr. Graham came by yesterday morning to drop me off."
Clanking and shuffling. A beep.
"So," he continued in a perky voice. "When you didn't come to the door, I found the house key and let myself in. Is that a new table?"
"How'd you know where it was?"
"Know where what was?"
"The key."
"Pfft, 'cause I know you. You hid it where Claire used to."
More banging around. Some opening and shutting of cabinet doors.
"The frying pan is in the island. Second drawer," I called.
With an "Aha!" and another beep, I picked up what Adrian tried to put down.
"What did Will Graham tell you?"
"Not much told. The guy's quiet and kind of weird. He showed more than talked."
I waited. The refrigerator yawned its mouth.
"Crime scene photos of the Himes kid," Adrian continued. "Some more of the professors that were found a few months ago. Oh, and apparently a junkie was killed last night, but who cares about that, right?"
A chuckle.
"Burned alive," he added. "But I didn't think the Ripper did it. Some other twisted fuck."
"But he thinks that his death is relevant," I quipped. "Must mean something."
"Yeah, 'cause the guy can't be wrong."
At that remark, I decided to follow him into my kitchen, to stare my brother in the face. He wasn't translucent. He had an itch.
"I'm not saying that he can't be wrong," I told him from across the island counter. "I'm just saying that we shouldn't automatically dismiss whatever he tells us, you know?"
Adrian's face still wore a look of condescending jovialness, the universal look of an older sibling to the younger. A sly grin and knowing eyes.
"Ads, look, I appreciate this deal thing that you managed to conjure up with the Feds, that you tried to find a way out of that hell hole for me, really I do, but what is going on, like, really going on? Do we even know?"
All of the annoyance I felt towards my brother in the moment was stuffed in and sealed shut in the bowels of my emotion. I took a chance, went out on a gut feeling for him. Risked reputation for him. Did he not understand? Will Graham listened to me after I showed the letter. I withheld evidence from the FBI. To show that I had, it was a risk. Did Adrian not understand? I was flustered, and Adrian could tell, too.
"The FBI," he continued. "Doesn't need our help with finding the Ripper-"
"I gave them the letter-"
"Don't matter."
Adrian stopped what he was doing, his hands empty and eyes staring deep into me. I didn't waver though. Couldn't give him the satisfaction.
"That letter is nothing compared to what they probably already have on Lecter," he said. "Nothing. We got a letter and the kid who wrote it died later in the week. So what? We ain't connected. What weight does that have when compared to an entire government agency and all the ties they got, huh?"
My eyes narrowed.
"You're just being paranoid-"
"No, I'm not!"
My body flinched at the loudness, at the urgent strain that bellowed in his voice. One moment he was standing across the island, the next he was creeping around it to join me on my side. Close and intimate, his windows burned. The house was on fire.
"You know, I did a little research on the doctor," he told me. "Did it while in Vashon. Did you know that Hannibal Lecter was caught three years ago by the FBI?"
Surprised, I blinked a moment as my brother continued on, the skepticism leaping in between us like static electricity.
"Yeah," Adrian continued. "Yeah, they had 'im. Or, rather Lecter turned himself in. Either way, the FBI had him. They had him locked up for three fucking years."
His eyes were burning with all sorts of intense emotion. Anger was the strongest. That, or bitterness. I couldn't look at him in the face anymore. My eyes fell on the speckles of my granite countertop.
"How'd, how'd he get out?" I asked quietly.
"I dunno. You're going to have to talk to Mr. Graham about that one. I got no answer. Just know this: I'm not being paranoid. I'm not. I just can't be careless here. We can't."
"They don't know anything," I stated.
We were the only ones in my house, yet I felt the need to whisper, to speak delicately.
"Adrian, they have nothing on us, nothing to bring up."
My brother slowly shook his head, his mind's eyes focusing on some far off place. All I could do was wait on him as my words fell into the abyss of his thought process.
"I want to believe you. I do, but I can't," he said. "There's no reason why anything we have to say on the case is relevant."
"Then what reason would they have for letting my proposal go through, Adrian? Huh? To fuck with us? Just to piss us off? What?"
The muscles in his face stiffened as he bit down, as his teeth grinded against one another in agitation.
"They asked me if I could take them through the woods sometime soon," he said lowly. "If I could "walk them through" the mind of the Ripper with my "expertise." With my knowledge of the outdoors."
A fat lump grew in my throat, its weight like a stone. When he spoke again, his eyes looked into my own.
"I said I would. I'm going to lie though."
His warm hands then slowly moved to cup my face, and just as it had on the shower floor, my soul seemed to melt into a puddle at my brother's touch.
"I'm sorry, but this is not the way to get me out of Vashon, Ada. This isn't it. They know."
I tried shaking my head in denial, but he didn't let me.
"They know," he repeated.
He let go as an uncomfortable quiet fell between us. How badly I wanted the incident with Mitzy and the pool to never have happened. How badly I wanted to be out of this mess. In waves, regret and pity lapped at the shores of my heart and soul. They lapped for Adrian, too.
"Anything else?" I asked. "Just so I know where you stand in all of this?"
He grew silent as he took my question seriously, very seriously, for it felt that a whole minute ticked by when he finally decided to say something.
"Yeah," he said softly. "Don't trust Will Graham. I think he's lying about something."
I saw a permanent frown and a dog lover. I saw a man who needed to shave and had half a purpose in his walk. I saw shabby shirts and choppy sea eyes. I saw Will Graham. I wondered then who it was that Adrian saw.
"Lied to me about what?" I said.
"Can't explain it. Just a feeling."
The corners of my mouth pulled down like anchors, settling me with their sad weight and hopelessness. Instead of pushing the issue I let it go. The doubt that was piling higher and higher in my mind was going to stay there as a pointed obelisk for my fear. For the sake of ending the conversation, my arms extended out to embrace him, to hold Adrian and communicate "I love you" without parting my lips to speak. He moved closer and wrapped his strong arms around me, the stress leaving his bones and falling on to the floor.
My brother is a good man. He means well.
Throughout the afternoon, I learned of the price for Adrian's freedom. Tracking him wouldn't be a problem because of the chunky anklet given to him by the FBI. The only time he could be out and about in public was either with me or Will Graham, and Mitzy's restraining order still stood firmly in place. He was warned via Graham that one slip-up would result in immediate return to Vashon, no questions asked. Seemed fair.
"I wouldn't change a single fry at McDonald's."
Smiling, I said, "Yeah, why's that?"
A dash of blush. Not too much, but enough to give some color. Not that it would matter. Dr. Lecter tended to add the color naturally to my cheeks, no beauty products required. I shivered at the thought. Still, I patted it on gently, completing my regimen while Adrian sat in the corner of my bathroom nibbling on his dinner.
"Ada, look at this gem," he said.
I saw him waving a French fry in my direction, a mock-serious expression gracing every feature.
"That is a French fry, Adrian."
"Pfft, not just any French fry. It's a McDonald's fry. Practically an American pastime."
"Is it now?"
"Yup. I've missed these suckers. Too bad you couldn't enjoy them with me. The guy better be worth it."
I rolled my eyes at him, choosing to entertain the seemingly normal atmosphere for a bit longer. It was much more appealing than glorifying the gravity of the situation, the true situation that was at hand.
For the record, my reunion with my brother did not triumph over my anxiety regarding my evening with Hannibal Lecter. My fear was alive and well. I settled on telling Adrian that I had a date, that I had met an interesting gentleman and that said interesting gentleman had invited me for dinner at his place some days before. My "date", as it was, needed to be mentioned to Adrian, who, received the news as much as one would expect an older, protective brother to. Subtle shock and a smile that didn't touch his eyes. Add some psychological unsteadiness to the mix, and you have one oddly well-received veil of a kind brother. Peeking beneath the veil, however, was another brewing, creature. One that I was certain I would see once Hannibal arrived. I was actually promised it.
"He's worth it, I think," I said while spraying perfume on my wrist. "He's different. Kind of intimidating, but respectful."
"Yeah, yeah. Just don't think that-"
Whatever my brother was going to say was interrupted by the sudden barking of his dog downstairs. Before I could say a thing, Adrian had risen from my bed and started jogging down the hall and to the first level of my home, a quickness in his step that I only knew was fueled not by excitement to make a new friend, but perhaps to entertain the prospect of a new enemy. I held my breath until I heard his voice quiet the dog and the lock on the front door unsheathe.
Muffled voices, but they were clearly distinct from one another.
Some footsteps and the door shutting. Locking.
Footsteps coming up the stairs.
"He's here," said Adrian as he lingered in the doorway of my room. "And he's old."
He did not look amused.
"Like a fine wine," I murmured while passing him to greet Dr. Lecter.
As I emerged from the stairwell, I saw him waiting for me, his back turned and attention drawn elsewhere. I looked him over for a moment before properly announcing myself. Wearing black dress pants and a crimson dress shirt, Dr. Lecter appeared, per usual, fashionable and put together. Draped over his arm was a dinner jacket and just like the rest of his attire, it, too, appeared expensive and well taken care of. When he turned to see me his eyes were bright, the color of hazelnut gleaming in them. He was not the bitter man that I saw spying on me from the street corner, oh no. Back was the charmer, the darling from across the sea.
"Hello, Miss Ives," he said warmly.
"Hello."
I stepped from my perch on the stairs to stand before the man, my eyes never leaving his as I did so. Like magnets they drew me in, those eyes. Thankfully they lifted from my face to direct themselves to the one behind me.
"Thank you for allowing me to steal her away from you this evening, Adrian," said Dr. Lecter to my brother. "Had I known that you were residing here I would have asked you to join us."
"No problem," answered Adrian coolly from the stairs. "I just ask that you bring her back to me in one piece, Mr…?"
"Please, call me Henry," said Dr. Lecter with a polite smile. "And you needn't worry about Ada. Her wellness is my priority this evening."
Adrian flashed his white teeth at the doctor, but I knew better.
"The thing is, Henry, that I always worry about Ada. Comes with the territory, being a big brother and all. Do you have any siblings? A sister by chance?"
A pause. Small. Faint. Invisible, yes, but the chill in the room was to me as palpable as gravity. Between my brother's question and Dr. Lecter's hesitant response, the tension that I felt was almost unbearable.
Before I could do anything on my end to relieve it, Dr. Lecter gave a small smile and answered.
"In one era of my life, I did have a sister. Believe me when I say that I will do everything in my power to keep Ada safe and respected tonight, Adrian. I promise."
In return, my brother's grin widened and his shoulders shrugged.
"Great!" he exclaimed merrily. "Then I have nothing else to say, but that I hope you guys have fun. Bye, Ada."
I did not smile back at him. I offered nothing in response that told Adrian I approved of his behavior at all. Instead, my feet carried me and my clenched jaw past both men and to the door, the sounds of Lecter's soft footfalls trailing behind me.
The car door was opened for me by my date, and while getting into his car I felt a sense of primal fear. It filled my veins. It was as if the fight or flight response was switched on like a lamp, burning and signaling the inevitable. It wasn't until he had started the car and driven for about five minutes did any form of conversation start.
"I'm-" I started to say, but the right words, they wouldn't, couldn't come out. There were so many. Too many questions. I swallowed.
"I, I don't know what to say," I said. "I-"
"You look beautiful."
My mouth shut instantly at the unexpected compliment.
"What, did you, did you say something?" I asked, the words fumbling their way past my lips.
I was looking right at him, unashamedly staring. The light from the street lamps passed over Dr. Lecter as we drove, illuminating his handsome face and leaving hollow sockets in their wake. Even when shrouded in darkness though, I knew that he glanced my way.
"You heard what I said, Ada," he answered calmly. "You look very beautiful this evening just as you do every day."
Oh.
"I heard you," I said. "I just, just don't get why you said that."
"One of us needed to say what one was thinking of the other, and I believe a compliment was in order-"
"Why am I alive?"
The words spilled out like a sieve. I didn't bother in attempting to conceal my fear. My stammering and nervous expression surely gave me away.
He peeked at me again, his brows raised slightly.
"I can't do whatever," I started with a limp wave of the hand. "Whatever this is without knowing the answer to that question first. Can you give me that? Please?"
My plea was met with more silence. For a moment, the sole sound between us sang from the stereo system of his car. Classical music of some sort. It was rather melancholy, to be honest.
"If that is what you need in order to continue the evening, Miss Ada, then I would be happy to oblige. That is, if you answer a question in return."
His voice was even, polite, and had a warmth to it. Such an untrustworthy thing.
"That game again," I murmured. "Really?"
"Yes, our game," he said. "The same one we played in your living room."
"Quid pro quo," he added. "I believe that such a tool benefits a situation like that which we are currently experiencing. Social awkwardness and all."
"I'm sorry about Adrian-"
"You have no need to apologize, Miss Ada. Your brother was only doing what he knows is best for you. I like him. After hearing so much about your brother, it was nice to see him in the flesh. He has a distinct charisma in his words."
"Oh really," I responded listlessly.
"Oh yes. And I do promise to keep you safe tonight, so long as you respond with equal levels of civility like I plan to indulge you with."
"And if I refuse to indulge you with "civility" what will you do to me? Hm? How do I know that you aren't just going to kill me?"
His gaze was focused straight ahead. I didn't turn away from him. That luxury would not be granted that evening for Hannibal Lecter.
"You don't know," he said. "Like all animals, you will not be aware of my intentions until it is too late, just as I am not aware of your intentions, Miss Ada."
Orange light continued to dance across his face as he drove on and on into the oblivion of the night time. We never entered the city. Out in the pines, Dr. Lecter robbed me of that which I knew intimately. He robbed me of my last hopes of feeling safe and secure.
"I have no intentions with you."
"You intend to survive, to protect what is yours," he replied lightly. "Your brother's actions that you are so disapproving of are built, I imagine, from the same justice of that which led you to sit where you are right now."
"Those are the strongest intentions that mankind has to offer," he continued. "You've exercised them before. With a sibling bond as strong as the one you share with Adrian, your hands must miss the feeling of following through with instinct."
"I don't know what-"
"Also, you didn't go to the police or FBI after learning of my true identity. Such a strange thing to do for someone who fears for her life."
When he looked back at me, the light from the road shined down on his face for a moment just as it had the entire conversation. However, when he looked at me then, for that mild second, I swore that Dr. Lecter was smiling. Not with his lips, no, but with those cursed eyes. And it wasn't jovial or playful. It had, his stare, his stare had a sort of condescending glow to them, as if I were a lesser creature amusing him with my breathing alone. I don't know. I remember feeling so little there in the seat of his car. Like a specimen.
"What is your question?" I asked softly.
He smiled with his mouth, that pretty mouth.
"Are you willing to be yourself, Miss Ada?"
"What do you mean?"
"Are you willing to be who you really are?"
"I have been," I replied plainly. "I've been myself-
"No," said the man abruptly. "You haven't. But the night is long, and I do have hope for you."
Nothing else was said on the matter. Nothing else was explained. And he drove on. And sat in silence while the lights touched his face.
This one has waited a long time to be written, and I want to thank those who have waited patiently for it as well. I have hesitated while writing, mainly because Season 3 hasn't ended, and although this is an alternate universe of sorts, I'd like to be as originally parallel as possible to what is going on with the television series. I'm opposed to blatantly stating where my fictions take place in the timeline of the inspired subject. Isn't reading a story all about figuring out where it will go, rather than having it spoon fed to you? -TCR